Presumption
by homeric
Summary: You really shouldn't evesdrop if you aren't willing to take the consequences. Harry, Sirius/Remus


**Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me. Rated M for slashy themes and some bad language. Set in the early part of OOTP when Harry and co are living in Grimmauld Place.**

_It was a complete pain in the ass literally and figuratively, that old wizarding houses had plumbing that went back as far as their bloodlines_, Harry Potter thought. _Seriously, there must be something wrong with purebloods if they were quite happy to shell out money for gold doorknobs but only have one toilet between six bedrooms. _Closing the door behind him, he almost sighed with relief as Ron's snores were muffled. Good friend he might be, but as a room mate he left a lot to be desired.

As quietly as possible, he crept past the room Ginny and Hermione were sharing. _They, _didn't seem to snore, he pondered sleepily. _The view was probably a lot better than waking up to Ron dribbling over his pillow too…_ The door to the bedroom was shut, but he indulged himself for a moment in imagining the two girls curled up together. Brown and red hair tangled, soft limbs curled around silky skin … Padding down the stairs before he got too carried away, or worse still was discovered by an irate Molly Weasley who would probably see straight into his brain and hex him for the not exactly chivalrous images it contained of her daughter, he barely noticed the thin beam of light seeping from underneath Sirius's door.

"Mine's definitely bigger."

The confident statement was somewhat muffled by the closed door, but nonetheless it caused Harry Potter to stop in his tracks. Half asleep and still pleasantly caught in fantasies he'd _Avada Kedavra _himself before admitting, he was about to dismiss what he thought he had heard when a different voice spoke up.

"Keep telling yourself that. Anyway mine's thicker, and that's more important."

_That was Remus's _voice, Harry realised. But what in the name of Merlin was his former professor talking about in the middle of the night, and why for that matter was he in his godfather's bedroom? Grimmauld Place was hardly small - there had to be better places for late night discussions. What was bigger? It made no sense. Unless… The sudden images that flooded his brain sharpened at the sound of Sirius's lazy drawl, and Harry had to bite his lip to keep from letting out a squeak of surprised shock.

"I thought it was what you did with it that counted." Sirius sounded vaguely amused. "Staying in control, not letting go too quickly?"

_No. No way. Sirius and Remus? _For a moment he felt like his mind was one of those muggle Rubix cubes. Twisting and turning what he knew and what he was feeling, everything suddenly seemed to snap into place. Remus had never married as far as he knew, and his godfather… Well from what people had said, Sirius hadn't so much as glanced in the direction of the girls that had shown interest in him. Not the usual reaction you would expect from a teenaged boy. At least not a heterosexual one. Slightly hysterically, Harry wondered whether his father had known about his friends' sexual orientation, and if so how he had handled it. _Hi guys,I was evesdropping outside your door and realised that you were gay - well done, _probably wouldn't cut it, he thought to himself. Perhaps there was some way of locking up inconvenient memories, or hypothesies, or whatever in the name of Griffins' balls you called the images that now paraded through his mind. He had no problem with people being gay - hell so long as they didn't have the Dark Mark then their sexual orientation was no business of his. _This, _however was too much information, too soon, and it would be a pretty crappy ending to his story if he died of embarrassment before Voldemort got to get a proper chance of killing him. He could almost see the headlines: _Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived Spontaneously Combusts After Witnessing Gay Sex Scandal (illustrated re-creation on pages 2-9). _

Feeling horribly trapped, Harry felt himself unable to move. Before him the hallway with its creaky floorboards and muttering portraits stretched like a giant obstacle course, but the ache of his bladder had him squirming uncomfortably. Going back without relieving himself wasn't an option either. For moment he considered the large potted fern at the top of the stairs. The look from the portrait of a distinguished old man in Medieval clothing situated above it swiftly put the kibosh on _that_ particular plan. Creeping forwards carefully, he tried to make as little noise as possible, only to almost walk into a rusty suit of armour at Remus's next words.

"So long as it gets the job done then prolonging it doesn't do any good. Why exhaust yourself for no reason?"

Sirius's reply was accompanied by the unmistakable squeak of bedsprings. "Sometimes it's fun. Especially in public; don't you ever wonder what muggles would think if they caught us at it?"

"Have you arrested, I expect. That's before the Ministry have the muggles' memories altered and shove you back behind bars," Remus said, with what, to Harry seemed like amused irritation. "A trip to Azkaban for a few minutes of gratification?" He gave a small sigh. "I hope Harry hasn't picked up any of your recklessness."

_What?_ Fingers gripping the greave of the armoured knight that stood silently in the corridor, the teenager barely managed to prevent the whole suit toppling to the ground.

"You're the one who taught him everything," Sirius replied languidly. "I hope you taught him well - technically it should have been me. I am his godfather after all."

"And that means you automatically get to instruct him in the art of getting into trouble I take it?"

"Of course." From behind the door there was more squeaking of bedsprings and what sounded suspiciously like a yawn. "I expect he and Ron practice together, d'you think Hermione joins in?"

Stunned, Harry could only listen in utter disbelief. _He and Ron… And Hermione… _A brief image of bare tangled limbs and languid sighs was abruptly brought sharply into focus by the idea of Ron. The very male, freckled Ron. Who had a penis . Any lingering erotic thoughts were swiftly extinguished. I mean he loved Ron, but he had no desire to see what lay beneath his Chudley Cannon pyjama's. But to think that Sirius thought that he and Remus had been other than teacher and pupil, and for Remus not to deny it! What was that all about? Suddenly angry he was about to march into Sirius's bedroom and loudly protest his innocence, consequences and embarrassment be damned, when Remus spoke again.

"I can't imagine Hermione practicing a patronus outside Hogwarts. The wards here are good, but she's too cautious to risk underage magic."

"Probably true." There was a squeaky shudder that sounded a lot like someone flopping backwards onto a mattress, and Harry let go of a breath he hadn't known he was holding, somehow managing to catch the helmet that toppled off the suit of armour with his free hand. "Shame really, would have been fun to see what they came up with." Sirius sighed regretfully.

"Harry's a stag - you know that already. If Ron produced an I-don't-know… gerbil then you'd just take the piss out of him. I keep telling you it's the thickness, the solidity of the image that holds the power not the size. It's no good conjuring an elephant patronus if it only gets two feet before disappearing."

"It's also not much use if you conjure up a really strong flea patronus if people don't notice that it's there," Sirius protested. "Imagine if a load of Death Eaters…" His godfather continued his argument, but Harry took advantage of the heated debate to place the bits of armour he had inadvertently pulled off onto the floor and scurry towards the lavatory.

Emptying his bladder with a sigh of relief, he washed his hands and looked at his reflection before giving a short laugh. Talk about getting the wrong end of the stick! _For a moment there things could have gotten seriously awkward. _With a shudder he imagined what would have happened if he had actually gone barging into Sirius's room and accused him and Remus of being lovers. Sitting around the breakfast table the next morning making polite conversation would have been right up there with snogging Umbridge or offering Voldemort a manicure in a list of things not-to-do before you die. Dragging his hands through his hair which remained resolutely tousled, and ignoring the mirror's "_be better off chopping your head off mud-blood lover" _comment, Harry made his way back to his room. It didn't really matter if Sirius or Remus heard him, he thought as he plonked the helmet and greaves back onto the battered suit of armour he had hidden behind. Come tomorrow he'd give them a demonstration of his patronus - purely by accident of course. Ron and Hermione hadn't tried theirs yet, but it was only a matter of time; Ron was a fast learner and since when was there a spell that Hermione couldn't learn in two seconds flat? Yup, Harry thought, with a little help he'd show Remus and Sirius that they weren't the only ones with a talent for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Giddy with tiredness and the curious numbness that comes when shock dissipates, he turned the latch to his bedroom, and was profoundly grateful that when Ron's sprawled form was illuminated briefly by the hall candlelight, he wasn't waiting up for an explanation as to where he had been.

Slipping beneath the worn but, thanks to Molly Weasley's cleaning spell, fresh smelling sheets, Harry closed his eyes, the sound of the helmet falling off the suit of armour downstairs lost to the beginnings of his dreams.

* * *

"What was that?" Remus Lupin paused mid sentence and held his breath, the better to hear any small sound that came from outside the small bedroom he was currently sharing with Sirius.

"Probably Kreacher trying to shag my mother's portrait." Sirius Black yawned widely, his even white teeth flashing in the candlelight. "Either that or he's looking through the keyhole again." Raising a dark eyebrow at the man sprawled awkwardly against the wall, his bare feet digging into the threadbare carpet, the tatty pyjama bottoms sliding down the werewolf's narrow hips, Sirius sighed.

"What are you doing down there?" Rolling onto his back with the confidence of someone who knew that they were born beautiful and had no qualms in taking advantage of the fact, Sirius ran a hand over his smooth chest. "Every time I try and get you into bed you start off some sort of intellectual debate."

"You were the one who started the conversation," Remus reminded him, getting to his feet. "I was merely speculating about the size and corporeal density of patronus's - you're the one who wouldn't let the subject go." Stretching so that his joints cracked, alleviating the cramps in his muscles, and rolling his shoulders because he knew that Sirius liked watching him, he eyed the bulge in his friend's boxer shorts. "Not that you were ever that keen on intellectual stimulation when there were other pleasures to be had."

"Fine." Sirius grinned as Remus slid onto the bed beside him. " You win. Whatever we were arguing about I completely concur." Kissing the werewolf deeply, he grinned and ground his hips against his lover. "Still reckon mine's bigger though." Any comment Remus might have made was smothered by a deep kiss and a silent _silencio _spell that left any squeaks, groans and cries of pleasure that ensued trapped inside their little room of bliss.

* * *

Muttering and grumbling, Kreacher whisked a feather duster over the marble bust of Salazr Slytherin and made as much noise as his featherlight body could as he stomped up the stairs. It wasn't enough that he served a filthy blood traitor who rubbed his nose in the downfall of his noble masters every time he could. No.. This thing, this man shaped thing, not only did not hide his perversions but flaunted them to him, and with a werewolf of all things! Grumbling to himself, Kreacher picked up the heavy steel helmet that had fallen off Odric the Odd's armour. At least Odric had had the decency to hide his over fondness for llamas, he thought bitterly. How he wished that his mistress were still here. How he wished that he could unsee the filthy trysts that went on beneath his roof. But it was not to be, he thought resolutely. He alone would uphold the standards of the woman who had brought him into her house and taught him proper values. If young - not master - not ever his real master - Black wanted to rut with his werewolf lover then let him.. The whispers and moans that came from the two young misses' room though…. Honestly, was it too much to ask that decorum was upheld when his poor dead mistress's portrait was hung at the bottom of the stairs? Taking out the two large balls of cotton wool that he carried in his loin cloth, Kreacher shoved them in his ears and picked up his duster. The ascent of Voldemort couldn't come fast enough in his opinion.

**A/N: My first attempt at slash. I'm a total Tonks/Remus fangirl, but I like the idea of Sirius and Remus together too. As for the hint of Ginny/Hermione at the end - I'll leave it to your interpretation as to what Kreacher heard... I haven't written anything like this before so feedback good or bad would be very much appreciated.**


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